


Learning a lesson

by Marudny_Robot



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reverse Robin AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2018-12-31 18:26:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12138456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marudny_Robot/pseuds/Marudny_Robot
Summary: Damian Wayne – Son of Batman and Talia Al Ghul; Grandson of Demon’s Head – is ten years old when he is send to live with his Father to learn from him. Although his Father’s teachings often confuse him (and seem foolish compared to League’s training) – Damian will do everything in his power, to prove that he is worthy to be called his Father’s Son.There’s also Tim Drake, who curses the day he met Damian. Bad luck can’t seem to leave him alone, just as much as Bruce Wayne’s son.At least, his Mother seems to be more interested in his life, so maybe it’s not that bad?





	1. Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> Basically: my take on reverse!robin AU in pre-52 universe and on thoughts process of those boys (assuming, none of them had anything resembling healthy childhood).  
> Enjoy.

Damian was ten when he was send to live with his Father.

Don't misunderstand him. It was his _dream_ to meet his Father. To meet the person his Mother always called _Beloved_ , and whom his _very hard to please_ Grandfather respected. To learn from the person he heard such amazing stories about. To show him his abilities, his talents, how he trained, learned and fought only to be worthy to stand with Him, side by side.

Apparently, it was his first mistake.

(If Damian could allow himself to be sad… that would be the emotion he felt, after meeting his _hero_ for the first time.)

He still couldn't understand how he was allowed to stay in the Manor, despite his Father clearly not being happy with him there. Something about his Mother saying that – yes, he truly is – his Father's Son and his purpose for arriving here. She didn't contacted his Father after this, nor didn't allowed herself to be found. She even didn't allow Damian to contact her. Damian could understand that – his Father was Detective, as his Grandfather called him. He wouldn't be surprised if, by contacting his Mother, Damian would reveal her to him.

Still, living in the Manor with his Father – what was supposed to be his dream – wasn't really… interesting.

He wasn't allowed to _patrol_ with his Father, despite clearly being good asset. Even _Pennyworth_ was against the idea of Damian patrolling, or even helping with patrol.

(Damian couldn't understand how his Father was advised by his _butler_ , of all things!)

So, as a true warrior he was taught to be, he didn't give up. He fought for little things. For being able to train his body. For being able to train his mind – especially his _detective skills_. For being able to train those things _under his Father tutelage._

Time went and his Father relented. He could train with his Father. He was showed many things, from how to look for the most concealed clues to how use _everything_ _around him_ to gain advantage in fight. His Father even showed him – in Damian's opinion – rather odd things, like: how to take care of injured or how to gain information from people, without threatening or torturing them. Nevertheless, skills are skills and only fool don't see advantage in additional knowledge.

Despite Damian's many arguments, his Father never allowed him to patrol during that time. Damian wasn't worried. _Soon_ he would show his Father his worth.

Damian didn't spend all his time on training and polishing his many skills – no matter how he wanted to. His Father _insisted_ (and Pennyworth _backed him up_!) that he would go to _school_. And, begrudgingly, he went.

He always did extra work. Didn't allowed his grades to be less then excellent.

Unfortunately, he made his second mistake, by fighting once with other student – it was that _idiot_ _'s_ fault, really. Damian just defended his Father's honor (rightfully so!), when that _n_ _eanderthal_ called his Father an _imbecile._ He was really happy to hear bones breaking, to be honest. It's sad, he was stopped before he could inflict more damage.

For some reason Father (and _Pennyworth_ – Damian had to remember that apparently that _senile servant_ have some power over his Father) weren't happy with that information.

He wasn't beaten, or something worse, as a punishment. He was only _lectured_ and his training time got reduced for a week. It was very light punishment, compared to what he was used to (seeing or receiving), but he wasn't stupid to point that out loud.

Still, despite being there no _real_ punishment, Damian saw the effect of his actions. He had lost in his Father's (and Pennyworth's) eyes. Gaining back what he lost was going to be harder work than before, that's for sure.

But he didn't let that _crush him._ So, he worked harder for his goal.

He started with school. Some classmate told him that _questioning authority_ would bring him only trouble, no matter how wrong it is. So, his Father never had a chance to be called, because Damian never reduced his teachers to crying mess. See? He tried.

 

&&&

 

Year passed and Damian learned and got _accustomed_ to his new life. To Gotham, the Manor and it's occupants. But he wouldn't call it _acceptable._

During that time, no matter how hard he _worked_ and _tried_ and _listened_ and _helped_ , he couldn't made his Father see his worth. Bruce Wayne spent more time with him, talked with him, trained him and teach him – yes. But there was always some hesitation in his eyes. The lack of trust.

(Damian sometimes thought about hating his Father. But it was rare precedence.)

Surprisingly, also during that time, he… not started _liking_ , but was _thankful_ for Pennyworth. The old Butler must have started trusting him, that's why he became more helpful lately. Once in a while Damian could see pity in his eyes, but it lasted short. Practically, ended whenever that Old Fool saw Damian watching him. Good. Damian hated pity and was glad, that the Old Man at least _tried_ to hide it.

That, he understood. Damian _tried too._ He could _find_ some respect for him for that.

 

&&&

 

The _real_ change happened during his second year in Gotham.

It was late March. His Father was working on finding the _lair_ of new gang in the city. Unfortunately, they tried their luck in kidnapping, making the whole case priority for Batman. Damian, after living for year and almost three months with his Father, knew to some point, how that man's thought process went. He was aware, that with such important case, Batman simply couldn't be for all of Gotham, until kids return safe and kidnappers went to prison.

So Damian _dared_ and _offered help_.

He predicted that answer, but still – it hurt.

Days later, Damian still played the obedient son. He saw his Father working day and night on the case, juggling WE, Batman, his Brucie persona for reporters and still listening to Damian, when he talked about his day or give his thought about some of Batman's cases.

He also saw how his Father slept less and less. How sluggish he became and tired. Pennyworth also saw this and shared Damian's worries.

After a week and a half, he decided to _act._

Just as he saw his Father driving away, he turned to Pennyworth and stated:

“I'm going to help him. I'll be back before him.”

He was about to turn back and go for his suit (secretly made for this occasion) and weapons, when he was stopped by Butler's hand on his shoulder. Damian looked at him in question.

Alfred Pennyworth looked at his young charge and sighed sadly. With gesture, told Damian to follow him. They stopped before work table, cluttered with parts and tools. Damian was silent when Alfred opened the drawer and pulled two comm units from it. He activated them for boy to see and then put them both in Damian's hands.

“Second one is as a precaution. Don't take any of them out until you came back. Report to me every half an hour. And please – _be safe_ , Master Damian.”

Damian looked him in the eyes. “I will.” He promised. “But why…?”

“You would go anyway, even if I told you not to. I wanted to make sure you would be able to call for help, if need arises.”

 

&&&

 

As promised, Damian tried to not go into dangerous situation _too often_ (But really, it depended on _how_ they would describe _dangerous_ ). He could hear his Father talking to Pennyworth over his comm, but he didn't say anything to any of them. He would report to Pennyworth later, on a private line. He didn't want his Father to know _where_ Damian currently is. No. His Father, as well as Batman, was a _stubborn_ man. He wouldn't ask for help, so help had to go to him directly – even if it would be against his direct orders.

Besides, it could always be the chance to _show_ his Father. What were some half-witted thugs for a Trained Warrior like him?

At about hour till the end of his patrol time (0:30 am, as Pennyworth _insisted_ ), Damian lazily wandered near the beginning of Crime Alley. Surprisingly, streets were mostly empty – safe for that box full of kittens, abandoned near one street.

It was quite silent here – no small businesses here, no people going in and out of their homes, nor any wandering teenagers or drunks. Not counting noises from homes high above (and there were some windows with lights on), it didn't seem as anyone would _notice him_.

Damian quickly went to the animals and crouched in front of the box.

There were three black kittens, with white paws and white spots in various places. Damian slowly started to pet one kitten's head with his finger. _They are nice,_ he thought.

He always wanted a pet. It's not like he didn't have contact with the animals _at all_ (some of Mother's or Grandfather's subject worked with those). It was more that he wasn't _allowed to have one._ Something about him being _too attached_ and it being _used against him_.

Ridiculous.

Damian saw people being tortured or even killed by his Grandfather (or by any of his subjects), _many times_. And he was _well aware_ why some of his teachers _suddenly couldn't teach him any more_. He grunted _._ _To think, he was still thought by people as_ _faint-hearted_ _._ It greatly annoyed Damian.

His musings were stopped, when he suddenly heard noise far down the street. Damian hid in the alleyway, glancing from behind the building in the direction of the source of the noise.

Five men were walking in Damian's direction. What _was_ worth pointing out, was the fact that two of those men, was considered suspect in the _kidnapping case,_ that Batman was taking care of _._ Damian smiled, grateful that he decided to hack computer in the Cave, to read his Father's case-notes. His mood immediately got better.

The men passed Damian without noticing him. Damian waited few more moments, to make a reasonable distance, then started following them.

He left the kittens, promising himself, to look for them the next day.

 

Damian followed the suspects for about fifteen minutes, hiding in the dark. During his last stop, he hid behind the car – little nearer than he kept his distance. The men stopped before the red-bricked four-storied building. Single light above the front doors, shone on them. They went inside, lighting the way and making it easier for Damian to see where they are going, through the windows. They stopped on the third floor. Not long later, lights went on in the window the most far away from Damian.

Bruce's son looked on the other side of the street. The old gray building had five stories and was almost wide as the red one. He looked up. The roof seemed as the better place to observe.

(He almost smiled, thinking how _easy_ today's patrol seemed to be.)

Then – something on the roof caught his attention.

_Wait._ Damian looked closely at the dark figure above. It was small, and was moving. Standing near the edge of the roof, only shape was clear enough to see. _Person?_ Damian thought. _Child perhaps?_ _If yes,_ _then_ _that kid_ _could be potential target._

Damian moved by the shadows to alleyway between buildings. Not choosing metal stairway, for possible noise, he climbed up using windows, balcony or anything giving him advantage. Upon arriving on the roof, he immediately hid in the shadows. Damian didn't go directly to the figure, choosing to circle it from the left. He stopped about five meters from it. Dark figure wasn't now as non-recognizable as before, but it didn't make Damian happy. Child before him didn't saw nor heard him - which was good. But that kid was probably too absorbed in his thought, considering how intensely he gazed low at the red building. Little fingers were moving along something dark, near kid's chest.

_Wait._

_W_ _as_ _that child_ _t a k_ _i_ _n g  p_ _i_ _c t u r e s_ _?_ Doesn't matter.

Damian silently moved behind the kid, then, when he stood directly behind kid's back, he dragged the kid away from the edge of the roof.

“Wha-!”

“Shhh!” Damian clapped one hand on kid's mouth. “We don't want anyone to look here!” he said silently near kid's ear.

The kid struggled to escape, but Damian was bigger and stronger than him. He easily hold the kid in one place.

Damian choose this time to look properly at the kid.

The kid – or rather little boy in his arms, looked about seven or eight years old. Thin – judging by face and hands. With baggy sweater and opened denim jacket on him. Short dark hair. It was hard to decide if the boy was homeless or not.

His musings were stopped, when the boy bit his hand.

“Let me go!” the boy shouted, as soon as Damian took his hand away.

“Don't shout! I work with Batman! I'm here to help!”

Boy stilled in his struggling. Then, slowly, he turned his head to look at Damian.

“I don't believe you. Batman always works alone.” Boy said in tone, as he was telling him, _a_ _very  o b v_ _i_ _o u s  fact._

_Great._ Damian looked slightly annoyed at kid – what is he gonna do now?

“What were you doing here?” Ha asked. “Where are your parents?”

Boy just looked more intensely at Damian (and Damian was very glad in that moment for his concealed eyes).

“I'm not supposed to talk to strangers.” _That cheeky-_

“Too late.” replied Damian shortly. “Besides, do you know how dangerous is here? There are kidnappers in that building you were looking at. _Why were you doing it anyway?_ ”

Kid's face just… blanked for a second. Then he moved his head slightly, in question.

“Are you a kidnapper?” The boy asked. And before Damian had a chance to reply at that _absurd-_ “No, you can't be. You are also a kid. It would be strange for a kid to be a kidnapper.” Boy continued, furrowing his eyebrows. “What are YOU doing here? And how do you know about kidnappers? Are you working for them?! Or maybe-”

“Enough!” Damian stopped him. He turned the boy, so he was standing in front of him, and hold the boy by his shoulders.

“Listen here, now. If you are as _smart_ as you think you are, you should know how _stupid you are_ by being here. As for me - I work with _Batman_ , and I _don't care_ if you believe it or _not_. It's the truth. Just as well as that there are kidnappers in that building. Now - ” Damian glared at the boy. ”You are going to tell me what were you doing here, who you are and where are your parents. _No games_. Do. You. Understand?”

“F i n e.” The boy crossed his little arms and scowled. “I'm Alvin. I was taking pictures of that building, 'couse it has cool graffiti on it. My parents aren't home right now. I honestly didn't know there was someone – _especially_ kidnappers there. _Happy?_ ”

“No.” Damian sighed. “You are annoying and I don't know what to do with you now.”

“You could leave me here?”

“Unacceptable. Annoying or not – you are a child in very bad place for you, so technically you need my help. Besides…” He paused, as he saw camera hanging on the boy's neck. What's the chance that kid got some good shots of the real kidnappers? ”– give me you camera.”

“NO!” Alvin hided camera with his arms. “How do I know, you are not a bad guy, huh?”

“How do _I_ know, you aren't hiding very important evidence there! Give it to me!”

“NO!” Damian thought he could easily take camera off Alvin, but the boy was fighting so much, and – as much as thin his patience was getting – he wasn't planning on hurting the kid (even by accident). When he ( _at least_ ) took it off kid's neck and was holding in his hand, Alvin started to fight even more. Grabbing at his arms, kicking, trying to bite – anything for Damian to release his camera.

They were slowly getting back to roof's edge – the same side Damian was coming by. The fight became more heated (or _annoying_ , in young Wayne's case). When they both could see the staircase below, Damian _tried not to_ push the kid down there – _but_ because of that, he accidentally dropped the camera.

They both stopped, when they heard sudden _crash._

“Tt.” Damian commented, while looking down on the fallen object. Alvin looked devastated.

“YOU! You owe me new camera!” Alvin shouted at Damian, pointing his finger accusingly.

“I own you _nothing_. If you didn't try to take it from me, it wouldn't be destroyed now.” He answered, while going down the same way he came. He hoped that there was still a chance of film being _intact_.

“You took it from me FIRST!”

“And YOU were acting SUSPICIOUS! Now, go home kid, while I go do my job.” Damian hadn't heard boy's response, nor looked if the boy went or stayed, as he got down to get the remains of destroyed camera.

_Tt._ He should have stayed with the kittens.

 

&&&

 

Next morning, Tim Drake walked in circles in his room, while he was replaying last night _situation_.

Destroyed camera – while he was sad it happened – he knew it was replaceable. The film – was not.

Tim thanked every god he could remember the name of, that he changed the film before going out. No Batman shots were taken that night – only some landscapes, buildings, birds, cool stuff… _and_ , of course, _kidnap_ _pers._

_(Or, at least, some bad quality shots of their faces and better ones of the building)_

It could have gone better.

Hopefully, that strange kid _wouldn't_ be looking for him? Who Tim was kidding – he said he worked for a _Batman_!

_HA! That was a good one!_

Tim knew that Batman didn't have any partners. He worked alone, probably to hide his identity (which – Tim _strongly suspected_ – was really Bruce Wayne, or someone working with him).

“ _Wait._ ” Tim said aloud to no-one in particular while abruptly stopping. “Doesn't Bruce Wayne have a _son_?”

_Oh_ _crap_ _._ Thought Tim, remembering about soon to be Wayne Gala. _If there's a chance that Bruce Wayne's son is the kid from last night, then h_ _e will recognize me instantly._ And Tim couldn't  
 s t a y  h o m e  for that one, because his parents wanted him to go. (Saying, he's _old enough to not make an embarrassment_.) Hopefully, he wouldn't have to meet the kid?

_Fat chance_. Tim knew what his parents where thinking. _Make friends with the Wayne boy_ – they would  n o t  say - but surely, will _strongly imply_.

No - avoidance will not be an option here. Tim had to prepare for the outcome, when the kid will (surely) recognize him.

_Don't admit to anything._ He said to himself. _There's always a chance he won't remember you._

_Besides – what if he does? Then what he will say to me? In front of all those people? That he worked for  B a t m a n? That he saw me alone in places where little boys shouldn't be? It will make him look crazy and it's not I, who has to make an impression during that Gala._

Yeah, it may not be that bad. Just make sure there are always some gossiping people near them, if he _has to_ interact with Mr Wayne's son at all.

(And who knows? Maybe he could make younger Wayne _pay_ _him_ for his destroyed camera.)

 

&&&

 

_Shit_. Damian thought as he looked few days later at the developed photographs. Miraculously – film was not destroyed.

(Also, apparently, Pennyworth knew how to chemically develop them – _that man surprises him with each day…_ )

Still – despite the not the best quality of those photos, but still good enough to recognize people in them – it didn't changed the fact, that that kid took those pictures _for a reason_.

And _what reason_ had that kid, to take photos of the _kidnappers_?

Many questions popped in Damian's head. Who was that kid really? Why he was there? Why he took those photos? Was he aware what and whom he was taking shots of?

_Anyway_ , he thought annoyed, _he had certain Alvin to find._

And he had to find a way to give crucial evidence to his Father – hopefully, _without_ explaining method of acquisition.

 

&&&

 

To say, that Bruce was happy, upon given the photographs, was clearly a misunderstanding.

Sure, Batman now had good clues, or even evidence, but he also knew where Damian _had been_.

How? The envelope containing those photographs addressed to him? For what reason would _Bruce Wayne_ had interest in kidnappers? Not forgetting that Damian was _too calm_ when asked about his thought on this precedence. He sighed.

(He had to remember to teach that boy how to lie. Maybe, as a parent, he should be happy, that he could read him like a book, but Damian would need that skill in the future. Bruce didn't even try to _hope_ otherwise. As a rule, he didn't lie to himself.)

He relaxed in his chair and looked once again at the monitor in the Cave, displaying his report on the current case.

Lost in thought, he started to recall the day (or rather evening, just before patrol), when Damian came to the Manor. It was hard to believe back then – and it still sometimes is – that he has a son. A ten year old boy, who he met – whom he heard about – for the first time, back then.

(Of course, he _really_ started to believe after he did the DNA test. _G-d knows_ how many times various women tried _that trick_ to get a hand on his money. Even Alfred probably doesn't know how many there were!)

(Scratch that. Alfred probably _knows_. And keeps a _little notebook_ with _names_.)

But going back to _that day. Talia._

_Talia – s_ till beautiful, as the first time he saw her.

She came to the Manor day later, after Damian, to prove to him that _yes,_ Damian was _their_ _son, Beloved. Please, take care of him._

(She left next day, without saying goodbye, without saying _anything._ )

He grunted. Thinking about what happened, won't help him now. He needs to prepare for the future. Like an upcoming Gala.

The Gala was to be held in three days, and during which he would officially present Damian to the _people_ (or rather _higher class_ ) of Gotham. To be honest, Bruce dreaded that day. He didn't want to let those _vultures_ meet his son and wished that those short statements he left year ago to the media would had been enough.

(It's never enough for the media. Still, it was miracle that, after Damian's arrival, the Wayne family had about month to themselves before people started talking.)

Anyway, Bruce thought - it was better to do those things on his terms. That's why a need for _hosting_ a Gala – to minimize surprises, by being in his territory and to _tell people! Because Brucie doesn't have secrets! No need to look there when I can tell you most of it!_ (Especially, when Bruce choose earlier “what” to say on the matter.)

Thankfully, Alfred took care of the _general preparation._ Preparing a ballroom, choosing the _menu…_ Considering that invitation's were send long ago, what was left for Bruce was to seal or hide the various entries to the Cave. Because, unfortunately – _drunk, horny_ and _overly curious_ people have bad habit of going where they _shouldn't._

He slowly stood up from the chair. He would better start now, when he has time. Maybe he should ask Damian to help him? Show him where everything is, how to open some of them…

_Wait._ There was a chance, that his son would interpret it as for asking for help _with patrol_.

Bruce sighed annoyed, going slowly up the stairs. He still need to talk to him about his _last_ help. He _knew_ what Damian is capable of. He knew how he fights, how he thinks… But still, Bruce was now a _parent_ and he didn't want to harm his ten year old son by taking him with him on patrol! (Doesn't matter, that Damian might have seen _worse._ Point is: he shouldn't have been _exposed_ _to_ it _at all_!)

_Tt._ During all the years of his training, he never learned how to rise a ten year old. He never thought he would even _need_ that knowledge. Unfortunately, _it is how it is_ and Bruce is responsible enough to admit that he simply _doesn't know_ what to do. Maybe parenting books would help him? _If they covered chapter on League of Assassins, the_ _n_ _m a y b e._

Maybe Alfred would help him?

Wait. Alfred probably helped Damian with the photographs.

_Damn it._ He has to look for help somewhere else.

Bruce grunted annoyed once more. Lost in thoughts, he went to the floor where the currently used bedrooms where. When he got there, he slowed in his steps, walking down the corridor to Damian's door.

He didn't have any concrete plan yet, but he had a good idea on what he _should do_ (and what he was working on from the _beginning_ ). Building trust.

He knocked on Damian's door.

 

&&&

 

It was the night of The Gala.

What that gala make it stood out from the rest, was the fact, that he was to attend.

_'Wayne's Heir Gala'_ was it called by press and public. Damian was simultaneously happy, that – since he started living with his Father – he had time to be away from the public eye ( _“adjusting”_ Pennyworth said), and frustrated, that he had to attend one _at all._

(He had to stop sulking now. Mother wouldn't like it. No. She would tell him to act as he is supposed to do. Not to embarrass her. Make her proud.)

(…Damian would like for her to also attend. That would be the first _event_ like this without her.)

Pennyworth came, with Damian's cleaned and ironed suit in his wrinkled hand. Damian just nodded, but didn't comment or make any other movement as butler put the clothing on Damian's bed.

“Young Master, your _official_ introduction would be about hour later after the start of the Gala. If you don't want to be there earlier, you don't have to.” said butler.

“That's alright, Pennyworth. I will be there from the start. I'm aware of what is expected from me.” answered Damian, not looking at old butler, as he was picking his suit.

“…If you wish so, Young Master. Know at least, that your Father wouldn't think any less of you if you would choose differently. Now, excuse me – I have to look at preparations.”

Damian didn't looked up from his suit, nor he said anything to retreating butler. What Pennyworth wanted to tell him? That his Father think of him as _worthy_? _Why_ wouldn't _his Father_ said so, then? _Why_ would he send his _staff_ to tell him that?

His Grandfather usually relayed messages to him by assassins and slaves. When he did it, it was a sign that he wasn't considering Damian as important. _Or that he was as important as those, he was given massages by._

…Was his Father doing the same? Then what is with the message itself? Considering, those two… was his Father mocking him? _You  a r e  important, but not enough to be wanted and needed from the start._

Damian's mood worsened.

Now Pennyworth's offer sounded wonderful. Damian dreaded looking at socialites eyes, seeing their mocking (as his Father's) gaze. He hates being laughed at as much as he hates being seen as _stupid child_.

_True_ , Damian admitted to himself, _I am young and I still have many thing_ _s_ _to learn._

_But I am Son of Talia Al Ghul and Batman! Their Firstborn! I am Grandson of Ra's Al Ghul! I was trained to be Warrior and raised to be the Leader!_

He looked at his reflection in the window. Fire burning in his heart, was seen in his eyes. He was angry at world (at his life). He wanted to change it.

He decided.

_I will show them all, that I deserve only respect._

 

&&&

 

Damian silently allowed old women to pinch his cheeks, younger ones to _coo_ over him (and make other annoying _sweet_ noises) and for all men to make loud comments of “How he looks like you!” “What a bright young man!” and other complimentary ones.

It was annoying, but manageable.

Unfortunately, those events also invited people, who had _quite_ _different_ thing to say.

From the start of the event, Damian stood beside his Father. As planned before, he left answering questions to him, only thanking people when he was supposed to.

It didn't mean, he _liked_ when people in _sickly innocent_ voice were asking questions.

(No – they weren't _asking_. They were accusing. Insulting. Pointing fingers at him and his Father, when asking _why now? Who's the mother? Where is she? Where is she from? Does he even understands what are we saying?_ )

(And his Father would give the same answers every time. Gotham wasn't safe for _Bruce Wayne's_ child. He was with his mother's family. She died last year. Beautiful and smart woman. Not from States. I won't say more about her – it's still hurtful bringing her up in conversation, you know? Yes, Damian is fluent in English and two other languages. Did you know he is the best in his class?)

He studied the room lazily. He didn't know most of the people here, but he recognized some kids from the Academy. Not that he was overly enthusiastic to see them during _the weekend_.

Although it was _…little fun_ to see them _squirm_ in his presence. As their parents dragged them to Damian, urging, saying, commending as parents could _“Say hi to your friend”_.

Damian was civil – but he didn't want help those people believe, that their child is anything but the _nuisance_ to him.

(Waynes were higher on the Gotham's _socialites food chain_. It wasn't _his_ job to play _friends._ )

It was hour after his official introduction – two hours since the start of the Gala. He was getting more and more annoyed with every person coming to him and his Father.

(Speaking of his Father – he was in awe, as that man still perfectly fooled everyone with his _Brucie_ _act_. Hopefully, he could one day learn that Art of Acting and Deception from him.)

Still, everything was slowly getting on Damian's nerves. He entertained himself with studying the room and his occupants, but it also started to get boring. His gaze turned to the buffet table. _He_ _WAS_ _getting slightly hungry…_

“…Damian?”

He turned abruptly to his Father.

“Damian, those are Janet and Jack Drake. And this is their son – Timothy. Say “hi”, son.

Damian looked from the adults to the boy standing in front of him. He didn't saw him in Gotham Academy, that's for sure. But _something_ was telling him that he _knew_ the kid from somewhere. Drakes' son looked younger then him. Scrawny. With short black hair.

The boy outstretched his hand to the handshake.

“Hello.” he said. And that's when it _hit_ Damian. He _knew_ him.

He completed the handshake. “Hello” _Alvin._ “Timothy.”

Damian looked at Bruce.

“Father, would you mind if Timothy and I go eat?”

_Bruce_ looked at him, as if Damian just now grown second head. Moment later _Brucie_ laughed loudly and ruffled his hair.

“Of course, champ! We can't let you, boys, starving! But remember – nothing alcoholic! You are still too young for that!”

Jack Drake laughed with his Father. His wife smiled shyly at Damian and pushed her son slightly in his direction. Tim didn't have time to say anything, before he was grabbed by Damian and dragged away to the buffet.

Tim's wrist was free, only after the boy's were far away from their parents, standing beside the center of the long buffet table.

Tim massaged his wrist. “What _is_ your problem?” he asked Damian.

“My problem? I don't have a problem!”

Tim rose one eyebrow, while looking at him – then ignored Damian for the chocolate cupcakes near them. Damian grated his teeth.

“Look at me, when I'm talking to you!” he shouted irritated.

“Why are you yelling at me like that?” Tim asked between the bites. Damian grabbed him by the tie, so now their faces were inches apart.

“Stop acting like an _imbecile_ and tell me: what were you doing week ago on _that rooftop?_ ”

Damian observed Tim's face. The Drake's boy stilled suddenly, after hearing the question. His eyes wide, greatly portraying the _deer in the headlight_ _s._ Damian, mentally congratulating himself, released the hold on boy's tie.

Timothy calmed down. “I don't know, what you are talking about.” he replied coolly.

That avoidance only _angered_ Damian. “Don't play games with me!” he hissed. “You know perfectly well what I am talking about!”

Tim gave Damian hard stare, then proceeded to take another chocolate cupcake from the tray. Before he had a chance to grab one, his hand was caught by the wrist.

He looked up at Damian's deep green eyes. He could _swear_ , he saw his _soon demise_ in them.

“Look.” Tim whispered. “Do you really want to _ask such questions_ , where everyone can hear? Think. If anyone is listening, then what would people talk about? Me? Some rich kid, or _Wayne_? You already don't have the best reputation, you know?

Damian, still glaring at Timothy, slowly let go of his wrist. “It isn't the end of our … _conversation._ ”

Tim nodded, biting on the cupcake. “I know…” He replied after swallowing. “…You still owe me the camera.” Then took another bite, completely focusing on the food before him.

Damian's eyes widened, then – when words sank in – he slowly smirked.

“But I never said anything about _the camera_.”

Tim stopped mid-bite. “Crap.” He muttered to the cupcake in his hand. As looking for a way out, his gaze wandered everywhere, while avoiding looking at Damian as best as he could. Then – clearly surprised – he looked somewhere far behind Damian.

“What _is  t h a t_?!” Tim asked aloud, pointing in direction he was looking at.

Damian looked where Tim was pointing, then turned back to the boy – only to see said boy retreating to the dance floor. _You fucking_ –

Before he had a chance to move, Janet Drake was walking in his direction.

And, surprisingly, she was _dragging_ her son with her.

Damian choose this moment to take a breath and control his anger. Because, _if that woman thinks, that I hurt her son-_ No. Anger won't help him. _Unfortunately_ , that brat was right, and Damian's actions here have enormous impact on his Father's _good_ _name_.

Mrs Drake stood before Damian – tall and imposing. It was complete opposite to her son (who's wrist was still tightly clutched by his mother), who tried to be as less seen as possible. Especially by Damian.

Janet crouched to Damian's height. Her lips formed in tight smile, as if she wasn't happy to have any apparent conversation they were about to. Her icy blue eyes were different story. She was looking at him from head to toes, observing Damian, as one would observe some kind of rare creature.

“Hello Damian” she said aloud, then – while looking the boy in the eyes – _whispering_ , she added: “You look just like Talia.”

Damian's eyes widened in surprise then immediately narrowed. Janet stood up. “I believe, you would be capable of looking out for my son. Am I wrong?” Without waiting for Damian's answer, she addressed Tim, while letting go of his wrist. She started to slowly brush her son's hair with her hand. “Don't be too hard on him, Timothy.”

Tim – while not used to this acts of affection – didn't stop his Mother. He looked up to her and dared to smile shyly.

“I won't be, Mother.”

Janet returned the smile with her _special_ one. That one with too pointed teeth and mocking gaze, which she reserved when something went _exactly_ according to _her plan_.

(It was also the only kind of _real_ _smile_ Tim saw her do.)

“Good. I'm going to your Father. Play nice, boys.”

She walked away, toward center of the room, where her husband were talking with Bruce Wayne. Damian observed her, until she vanished between other people.

He didn't like this. That woman seemed to be bigger threat than her son. He would have to get some information on her. Contacting his Mother may be a problem – at least, until he finds secure way to do so. For the rest of the Gala, thought, he had to _not_ look suspicious.

“Come with me.” He said, grabbing Tim by the arm. For now, he will ensure _Timothy_ would be far away from places he _shouldn't be_.


	2. To see

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Look what I just updated!  
> First, I wanted to thank you all, who read the previous chapter and let me know - through kudos/comments/messages - that you liked it! It means lots for me!  
> Second, I'm sorry that that chapter is shorter than the previous one. And that it is almost 2-3 months late (if you look when I posted it on tumblr). I now rarely have time and energy, so whenever I got those (and am hit with the inspiration) I try to write.  
> Now - enjoy the chapter!

 

_(few years ago)_

 

When Jack Drake was looking at his _s_ _on_ , he wasn't looking at Tim – Tim observed.

It was weird, in his seven year old mind, how his Dad _didn't really_ acted different from other dads, but at the same time he _did._ (At least, based on his friends' dads and those other dads he saw on occasion.)

He was told, by his (now dead) Grandparents, that he looked _just like little Jack, when he was your age_. (Tim couldn't agree fully – he had much more characteristics of his Mother, after all – but they weren't really acknowledging Tim back then, so anything said then by him was quickly forgotten.)

Still. Tim saw the pictures of his Dad, his Grandparents had and, yeah… there was some resemblance. But not what he was looking for.

In _little Jack's_ picture Tim saw his Dad, whenever he was talking about his next trip (' _M_ _y next adventure Tim!'_ ). It was hard to mistake that wide grin or that glint in his big eyes (a big _tell_ for _future trouble_ ) with anyone else.

After death of his Grandparents, most of their belongings (including all the photo albums) got in his parents possession. Some of furniture or decorative vases or other paraphernalia, where placed somewhere in the house, while the rest was hidden in the attic.

One day, when his parents where on another trip and his current nanny wasn't yet with him (she mistook the day – she said, apologizing – and added that she right now started the car, she will be soon) – on that one day Tim decided to see again the picture of his Dad.

After retrieving the picture from the album in attic, and one of the stools from the nearest room, he went with those to the bathroom. He placed the stool in front of the sink, so he could look at himself in the mirror above it (unfortunately, at seven, he was still to short to _not_ need stool). He compared his reflection to the photo, looking back at fort between the two.

_He couldn't find anything._

He couldn't find himself in  _little Jack_ , nor his Dad in him.  _Was he looking at the good picture even?_

Tim  _looked_ like his Mother. You could see it at the first sight. But where he looked like  _Dad_ ?

He glared at his reflection. It shouldn't be like this!

_(Was it why Dad isn't looking at him? Because Tim didn't look like he_ was his son _?)_

He took a deep  slow  breath  to calm himself and g o t down from the stool. He put away the photo, g ot back to the bathroom and  asked himself why he couldn't find anything?

Because there should be something resembling him of his Dad, right? Maybe it's not really visible on his face? Maybe it's his arms or legs, or how he moves and talks? Or maybe it's how he acts in general? But Tim isn't even sure he acts as  _any_ of his parents.

Maybe it was because of the pose on the picture. Tim didn't remember  if he himself smiled , while comparing picture  with his reflection . Tim didn't remember smiling often,  _period_ . Did Dad smiled often, when he was Tim's age?  Did he smil ed to his parents?  To Tim's Mother? To Tim?

_Did Dad ever smiled to_ Tim _?_

Loud crash brought back Tim to present. Looking down at the source of the noise, he saw the stool he previously used kicked away. Moment later, he felt his leg hurting.

_It_ _was_ _ok_ – no one was home anyway to hear the crash.

 

&&&

 

Two weeks later his parents came back from their trip. And they brought _gift for Tim._

(It was too early for his birthday, but if they planned to be away in July, then it answered things.)

The gift – _c_ _amera_ – was… unexpected. And Tim didn't know how to feel about it.

(Not so soon after the _crash_ in bathroom.)

“Do you like it?” his Dad asked, with happiness and such certainty in his voice, because why wouldn't Tim _like it?_

Tim had a blank look on his face. Similar _blank_ was in his mind, as he tried to think of an answer.

But then – _miracle! miracle!_ \- his Dad _smiled_ at Tim.

So Tim quickly took photo of his Dad.

Jack Drake laughed loudly at his son's antics and ruffled his hair. He told his wife cheekily _I told you he would like it_ , at which Janet only rolled her eyes, exasperated.

When his parents started discussing plans for their next trip, Tim sat down looking closely at his present, but not taking more photos.

He wasn't worried that his parents would leave soon – in two days if he heard right. They would tell him when, where, for how long and other specifics before going anyway. They always do.

Tim half-listened to his parents as he was thinking what to do with his camera. But taking photographs didn't seem _interesting_ to him. Not now, anyway.

…But maybe he should finish whole film before developing? Maybe…

Tim frowned – displeased, but determined.

He wanted the photo of his Dad ready and framed _now._

 

&&&

 

Taking pictures seemed _impossible_.

Next day, after his parents departure, Tim took his camera to school – planning to spend his afternoon, completing the film. All was good, until he arrived in the Robinson Park – camera ready in hand – but with _no idea_ what to take photo of.

For some reason, it didn't feel _right_ to Tim to shoot _whatever –_ but he didn't know what he was looking for. Trees? _Boring_. City landscape? _If everyone would stay still so it wouldn't be blurred…_ Sky? _With that constant fog_?

Those things weren't as beautiful as places where his Dad had been. Tim saw the pictures. His Dad showed him photos from his dig – pointing what they found. There were also other pictures: of colorful skies at various times of a day; of ancient (as well as just old) buildings; of busy part of the cities and their citizens; of seas, lakes and rivers which seemed to sparkle in the sunlight… even _trees_ where greener and more magical in Dad's photos.

Tim wanted to capture the same _magic_ that his father did, but nothing in Gotham seemed to have that sparkle for him. _It's stupid_. The whole plan was stupid. Tim felt stupid for thinking he would find what he want. He could have stayed home, not lie to his nanny that he was with a friend, study for school (maybe his parents would at least see _that_ ).

Instead he was sitting on a stupid bench, in a stupid Robinson Park, with stupid camera, _looking at stupid_ _red_ _flower in front of him_ _–_

The flower _moved._

Tim blinked. Flowers _don't come_ to people by _themselves_.

“You like it, Little One?”

Tim jumped, hearing a female voice behind him. Shaking, he slowly turned his head to look at the owner of the voice – beautiful red haired woman, with slightly greenish skin.

“Boy?”

Tim blinked owlishly at her.

“Are you alright?” She asked him. Tim nodded few times, visibly still shaken, but quickly comming back to his senses.

The woman snorted.

“Ok, good. Now – going back to first question – do you like that flower?” Tim turned his head slowly, to look back at the said flower. It was standing out beautifully between the rest of Gotham's flora. And it was _waving_ at Tim. _With it's leaf_.

“May I?” he shyly asked the woman, lifting his camera a little. She smiled.

“Sure. Go ahead.”

Weird but very pretty flower, which was posing for Tim? He smiled, taking few photos – in each said flower was taking different pose.

Maybe it wasn't stupid plan at all…

 

&&&

 

From that moment, Tim started paying more attention to his surroundings. In any possible moment there could be something that was just asking to be photographed and he would be angry if he missed anything. It, unfortunately, didn't mean that he finished the film quicker (he was very picky about _what_ to photograph).

He payed close attention to his surroundings – places, things, animals, but also (at some point) to people.

He still wasn't interested in talks between his parents and their various business associates… but he more often then before started to _observe_ people before him.

His favorite people to observe where his parents. And sometimes his current nanny.

But going back to his parents. Tim… Tim was surprised _how much_ he had learned about them, just by _looking at them_.

For example, how they were different – sorry, _acted different_ – when they were alone with him, when other people were with them, or when they were alone altogether.

When they were with Tim only (during those rare moments at home), they were… normal, he would guess. They didn't really talked with each other and he himself was left to his own devices (with occasional “Timothy, stop!” or “Timothy, put it down!” said in stern tone by his Mother). Most of their conversations were about Drake Industries, or they latest, or next travel – but they were short and to the point. They didn't share jokes, nor go off-topic. And if it wasn't for his Dad's visible excitement or his Mother's annoyance during those, he would even call those talks _emotionless_.

Talk with other people varied. If it was with new nanny or any person who would work _for_ his parents, then Dad wouldn't even pay too much mind to them (which left Mother to deal with most of those businesses). If it was someone, _for whom_ his parents worked _for_ (or _with_ ), then Dad… Dad was…

Tim never seen his Dad so talkative, besides when talking about his digs.

It wasn't _strange_ per se, but… he looked like clown, with all the bending in half in apology and constantly telling jokes… He didn't had this aura of _importance_ and _I don't have time for you,_ he usually carried with himself, and Tim couldn't tell if it was for better or not.

His Mother… his Mother on the other hand didn't change _much_. But, you had to look closely to see the _lack of_ change.

First visible change was the fact, that his Mother _didn't_ took control of any business conversation (which _was_ strange for Tim – as he had seen, quite often, that she was the one to take care of DI _at home_ ). She was always standing behind his Dad, smiling gently ( _so fake_ ) the whole time and laughing when was the time. She didn't participate in important conversations, entertaining other guest (usually other wives) with gossips.

It was weird for Tim, the first time he took notice of this. But also, during that moment, he must have been _staring_ at his Mother too obviously, as she took notice of _him._

And – instead of her gaze becoming _icy_ (as it was often, whenever he did something _not appropriate_ ) – she look _amused_. She took him with her to the kitchen and, when no one was near them to see or listen in, she told him: “Watch closely, till the end.”

He watched. And he _understood_. It wasn't seen at first, but his Mother was in control of conversation. She subtlety steered to the topics she wanted, gaining information (categorized by uninterested stare with slight glint in her eyes), or when she wanted others to _know_ what she told them (one corner of her mouth was slightly lifted).

And whenever Dad's _advances_ weren't helping him, Tim's Mother turned to the businessman (eyes widened a little – the picture of innocence and confusion) and with one off-hand comment or question she made the guy _reconsider_.

On rare chance, when the previous wasn't enough, she didn't make more comments, but she gave a _look_. It wasn't a glare (although it was near it), but it was a _challenge_. A _question_.

Tim was sure of it, considering how often he got that particular look from his Mother ( _“Are you sure of it, Timothy?”_ ).

Tim's Mother was special like that.

And whenever she decided to teach Tim something – like during those meetings – Tim always listened closely. It was very rare when she decided to share something with Tim, after all.

Those lessons never where direct and Tim was supposed to guess most of the time what she wanted from him. But if it made his Mother to look at him different then with her usual disinterest blank look (or _I'm very annoyed at you right now_ look), then he would gladly perfect those lessons.

Dad was easier to please.

Tim was guessing. Or rather, Tim was – still to this day – hoping it was true.

You see, his Dad was more open with his emotions then his Mother. It was easy to see when he was happy or sad or angry on frustrated or… - you get the idea. He was a man of science, and he very appreciated intelligent talks, especially about history, politics or about any of his archaeological digs. (Tim on rare occasion saw his Mother having those talks with his Dad.)

He wasn't really interested in Drake Industries, but it was given to him from his parents. And, maybe, it was the reason why Tim's Mother and Dad were together. His Dad could go, do what he liked, while his wife tended to family business (in which he wasn't interested in), keeping them from being bankrupt. He seemed to had perfect life. With perfect wife (because Tim's Mother couldn't let herself be anything _less_ then perfect) and perfect son.

Or maybe not perfect?

It was the problem, Tim still couldn't solve. Because, when Jack Drake talked to people about his _perfect son_ , he… never really was describing _Tim_. He was talking about the boy who had many friends, was very smart, interested in history like his Father, liked sports and… and…

And Tim wasn't like that. _Not_ without working relentlessly on those. And for which – the _Dad's perfect son_ – didn't have to.

(Tim was pretty sure he had half-brother somewhere. And the looks he had seen his Dad giving to other women, only cemented the idea.)

Tim's Dad looked at Tim many times, but he never _saw_ _Tim_. And he didn't know if he ever would.

( _But_ – Tim thought, letting himself hope – _If he can_ sometimes _make Mother look at him, and Dad smiled at him_ that one time _, then maybe_ _it just a matter how can he prove himself?_ )

And one day Tim decided, clutching his camera tightly, that he will _do something –_ something that no one before him could – that would make his parents _forever proud_. (And made them _see_ him.)

 

&&&

 

One evening he found that _something_. Or rather – _someone_.

 

He was eight years old and looking through Gotham for things to photograph, became something of a routine. He didn't wander _too much_ to …more dangerous parts of the city, but he also didn't stick to the same routes. Thanks to his smaller posture, he was able to go to places adults would have had problem getting in. He also learned – by observing various people - how to be as less noticeable as possible. In conclusion, Tim was able to take a lot of more interesting photographs since getting the camera.

 

It wasn't evening yet, but the last rays of sunshine were hard to see behind Gotham's fog, making the city look darker earlier. Tim was on his way home _theoretically_ going from the friend who lived nearby. There weren't many people besides him, even thought he wasn't going through bad parts of Gotham. But on his way, something high on the rooftop on the other side of the road piqued his interest.

Before he could came closer to see better, the dark shadow _moved_ and jumped to the nearest rooftop, farther away from the Tim.

Tim cursed, as he was too late to take a photo of the strange creature. He thought about pursuing it, but – looking again at the time – he decided against it. His current nanny was rather _strict_ on punctuality.

It took few days, before he had seen the creature – the _man_ (he was closer and could see better this time). The man was tying up two criminals to the lamppost, when Tim saw him, but he had run away before Tim ha a chance to take a photo.

There were more of those situations. Sometimes Tim saw the man everyday for a week, other times – it took days before he found him on the accident. Tim usually found the man, during fights or helping a civilian – rarely (two or three times) when the man was swinging on the line between the buildings and only once standing still on the rooftop.

It was hard to tell who the man was, considering most of his face and head was hidden. He was tall. And broad. And probably very _very_ muscular, Tim concluded, but he couldn't tell more, because of the cape which hidden the man most of the time.

When Tim went out everyday to take photos – now mostly at evenings and night, when everyone was asleep – it was because he was curious about the man.

Then he thought, that maybe solving the mystery of the shadowed man – about whom people talked like he was a _myth,_ no-one truly knowing who he really was (or if he even existed) – was what would make his parents proud of him. So, for this, Tim went out more often to look for the clues or the man himself.

With every sighting, Tim started to learn more about the man – but he also learned more about the Gotham and the people, the mystery man helped.

He saw people smiling thankful at the man and Tim couldn't help himself but think, that… he _also_ wanted someone to smile at him _like that._ And if helping people was what it took, to receive those smiles, then well…

Tim was just a kid. Smart kid, but still a kid. So he helped people during the day – small things, like helping grannies bring the shopping bags home or bringing the stuck on a tree kite (and once even a kitten!) down (he _was_ a good climber after all). He loved the smiles he received. But he also thought that he could do _more_.

And really – taking photo of the thieves, moments before they put their masks on and sending those slices of film to the GPD via mail… Tim maybe found his true calling.

He still observed the mysterious man, looking for clues to find his true identity. After months of observation he could tell many things about the man – how he usually punched, how his voice was low and how it terrified Tim the first time he heard it…

But also how the man was _kind_. And how _delicate_ he acted towards the victim. How he spoke tenderly and how Tim believed him, when he heard the man say _it will be alright_.

 

And really, _really_ , it should have been obvious – he screamed internally, later in his room, after it _hit him_.

When going to the doctor, already in the hospital building, he saw _Bruce Wayne_ talking to the scared _poor_ child with the same tenderness and mannerism, he heard the mysterious man speaking.

(His nanny thought, that the sudden harder grip on her hand, was because he was scarred of the shot. He decided not to correct her.)

He wanted to tell his parents that _he solved_ the mystery! _He_! When rest of Gotham still mostly thought of him as a _myth_! But…

But at some point, Tim admitted to himself shyly, as he felt he wasn't supposed to feel like this, _but at some point_ , he was only thinking about going out at night to see the _Dark Knight_ (as he called the mysterious man – Bruce Wayne – in his mind) – and it wasn't so he could show pictures to his parents (nor so he could tell them that he solved such mystery, as the man's identity, someday).

Just. At some point. The _Dark Knight_ – and what he represented to Tim – became slightly more important then his parents ( _approval_ ).

 

&&&

_(present, two days after Wayne Gala)_

 

“Damian? May I talk with you for a moment?”

Damian paused. He had one arm of the uniform jacket put on, when his Father knocked on door to his bedroom. _Unusual, considering Father …refrained from direct approach in the past._ He quickly gathered his wits, putting the jacket fully on.

“Came in.” he answered.

Bruce opened the door slowly – just enough so he could came in. He sat on Damian's bed and with hand gestured for his son to sit beside him. Damian compiled, but also raised an eyebrow in question.

“Damian. How… How are you today?” Green eyes blinked, surprised.

“In perfect form. Physically. Also mentally – as I prepared before for another week in that _Institution._ You don't have to worry about Wayne Family name in the future – _that,_ I can promise you.”

Bruce slowly shook his head. Damian mentally winced, seeing his reaction.

He stretched his arm and pulled his son to him, in weak attempt of hug. “I meant _here_ and _here”_ he added, as he used his other hand to point at Damian's head and chest, above his heart.

His son scrunched his nose in confusion. “Didn't I just tell you, Father?”

Bruce huffed. “Ok. Let me ask this. What do you think overall, about your life in Gotham?”

“It's hard to see positive aspect of this city, when illness caused by _unrecognized chemicals_ is one of the standard points in insurance companies adverts.”

Bruce _snorted_.

“ _Yes._ Yes, it is, son. _It is hard_. But my question was more about living here – at the Manor.” _with me._

Damian – who always make sure to look people in the eyes while talking to them ( _daring them, dictating dominance, showing – saying '_ I'm not afraid!' _)_ \- this time couldn't stop himself from looking down – away from his Father's gaze.

“It's… good.”

“Good?”

Damian slowly nodded, still not taking eyes away from the carpet. “I… _I_ have no basis for complainants.”

“…But you have some, right son?”

Damian bit his bottom lip, refusing stubbornly answer – gaze still at the carpet. _He shouldn't be complaining at all._

“…That's ok, son. I don't blame you for those.”

As soon as Bruce said this, he got to see his son's green eyes, widened in shock.

“Really.” Bruce continued. “Damian, your arrival here was … _unexpected_ , but not _unwelcome_. I'm happy that you are here and it's obvious that we all have to _adapt_. That's how all changes works. I don't blame you, for missing your life with your mother. I may not know how it feels, but I try to understand and be the father you need. I just hope, you will one day forgive me for how I mistreated you.”

“You never mistreated me.”

Bruce smiled sadly, slowly brushing his son's hair. “I did. For sure, for almost eleven years of your life. At first I didn't know you even _existed_ and when you came here I didn't properly taken care of you. _I was so afraid_ … I'm sorry, son. I'm so sorry.”

Damian didn't know how to answer his Father. But, he thought, that the man before him needed some form of consolation. And it was Damian's job to do it.

He slowly got out of the (awkward) hug and stood before his Father.

He wanted to say blandly _, that he forgives him_. Just to stop this confusing charade, that this man is playing at. “You…”

He paused and thought about what he wanted to say _again_.

Al Ghuls don't lie. They say only truth and they never break their promises.

Damian thought again about what his Father had said.

“You… -tt- You are _not_ forgiven.” He said, looking him straight in the eyes.

Bruce nodded sadly. “I understand, Damian.” He stood up slowly and went to the door. Before going out, Damian added:

“But _I wish to_ forgive you in the future. Don't disappoint me, Father.”

Bruce looked surprised at Damian. He smiled. “I understand, Damian.” He answered his son.

 

&&&

 

“ _Message from Lady Talia._ ” Damian heard someone say in Arabic. He turned his head in that direction, only to see middle-aged man in janitor uniform.

He looked around him to see if there was any student still wandering the halls after school, or any of the school personnel around. When he was sure they were alone, he turned to the messenger.

“ _What is it?_ ” he whispered back in the same language.

In answer, the man took a folded piece of paper from inside his jacket pocket and gave Damian, then left without looking back. Damian waited few moments, looking at the retreating man, then he went in the opposite direction, away from the Gotham's Academy building.

He thought about finding secure location on the Academy's grounds, but upon seeing Pennyworth besides his Father's car, he forgone the idea. Instead, he pocketed the folded message in his uniform jacket and went to the car.

The ride wasn't long. Upon arriving Pennyworth informed him when he should expect dinner, giving him at least hour to find a place, read the message and destroy the evidence.

He thought about Manor grounds, but scratched the idea, as it would seem _unusual_ for him, if discovered (there wasn't much to do there). Wandering through the Manor, he stopped before one of the rarely used rooms (maybe only by Pennyworth to clean), floor above the bedrooms.

Damian sat on the couch in the room, unfolding the paper.

_I promised, that you would look after Timothy Drake._ Was the only thing that the coded message said.

He brisked, annoyed. He didn't need to see “don't dishonor Your Family” to hear the implications in his head.  _After all, Al Ghouls never break their promises_ –  the mantra that was drilled to his head as long as he remembers.

He read the message again.

Something wasn't adding up. First, the kid who knew his Father's ( _and his?_ ) secret. Then, the kid's mother, who seemed  _dangerous_ to Damian, knew  _his_ Mother. Not only that – probably  _that harlot_ , made his Mother  _promise_ , that he would look a fter the  _brat._

(He was a Warrior! Not some  _bodyguard!_ )

Anyway, the kid –  _Timothy_ – didn't look intimidating. Not even  _trained_ . Damian would guess, that the only thing keeping alive the kid to this point, was sheer luck. (Seriously – the kid wasn't aware of his surrounding!  How  _dumb_ could he possibly be?! )

So, how did he learned  _the secret_ ? His  _Mother_ told him? If so, then why? Besides – what does he even plan  to do  with that information? On the rooftop, he  _talked_ like he  _knew_ Batman.  If he planned to use the information as blackmail, he wouldn't be so talkative back then.  How long have he been observing him?  _Why_ was he observing him?

It's easy to see that Janet Drake is the real treat to his Family (both to Father AND Mother – but she may not be aware of it). But observing her would be impossible for Damian, especially for Drakes' tendency to constant traveling.

Going through her son may be his only option. Was that  _why_ Mother wanted him to  _look after_ the brat?  (Did she knew of the danger?)

It's decided. Damian would not shame his Family.

Now, he just needs a good _reason_ to meet _Timothy_.

 

&&&

 

_(few months ago)_

 

“Why aren't you sleeping?”

Tim stopped mid-step and turned his head to the open room. There, sitting behind the desk, was Janet Drake.

“Go back to sleep, Timothy.” She said, going back to her work.

Tim walked to her, instead. He walked around the desk, stopping besides the chair Janet was sitting on. He waited in silence, his gaze never leaving her.

After few minutes his Mother scowled. She glanced at Tim, then went back to documents.

“Timothy.” she said.

“Mother.” Tim answered her, smiling. “You are early.”

Janet scowled.

“ _I am_ early. Your father is still overseas. He will be as planned.”

“ _Oh._ ”

Janet didn't answer him. She got back to her work, looking over DI new contracts and plans for her husbands future trips.

Tim stood besides her, silent. He wasn't tall enough to see anything on the desk. Instead, his gaze was fixated on the next best thing – his Mother.

He observed, mesmerized as his Mother worked. Slender fingers going over documents, trembling slightly. Simple gold wedding ring – the only accessory on her hands – was glinting whenever Tim had a short chance to see it from his position. Fountain pen, when she wasn't writing, was shaking in her hand, but the strong grip in which it was, seemed almost stable. There was slight frown on his Mother face and her eyes were squinted a little. Rest of her face didn't seem to be moving. There was a short _thud_ sound and Tim could see the weeding ring fully, as it was now laying on the desk before him. Away from Mother's documents.

He was getting sleepy, so – to not fall down – he grabbed the side of his Mother chair to hold on something.

Janet glanced at him once, before going back to her work, ignoring her son.

In reality, it wasn't more than fifteen minutes, when Janet paused her work. For Tim it felt like hours, during which he was losing a fight with sleepiness.

He vaguely remembered laying on a leather couch, near the desk. In contrast – the morning sun, coming through the windows from behind the desk and his Mother's jacket (day before – on the chair, now – laying gently on Tim) – were things that stayed in his mind for years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what are your thoughts? Some mistakes I forgot about? Please let me know in the comments (or message me on my [tumblr](https://marudny-robot.tumblr.com/))

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> Feel free to let me know in the comment, what you think! (or if there are some crucial mistakes, if you want)  
> You can also find me on my [tumblr](https://marudny-robot.tumblr.com/)


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